Buzzed Hearts

69: heartbreak diner

MOST DAYS, CAMILA makes it her priority to sleep early. But tonight, she's restless.

    Although she has never called herself a composer, there's a song stuck in her head—she needs to write it down. Camila is more of a player. She sight reads better than anyone, and can pick up the melody right off the bat.

    But tonight, there's a shift in the air. There's a buzz in her head, and so she grabs her folder of manuscript paper and heads out for a walk.

    Jeremy's set to land tomorrow morning, and though she insisted on picking him up at the airport, he says it's ridiculous she has to wake that early. Still, she plans on surprising him at the gate, desperate to pry the so-called secret he's been hiding.

    Plugging her earphones in, she takes the cold stroll to Old John's—a classic diner near Lincoln Center. The waitstaff already knows her order. Though she doesn't come here often, they recognize Camila—especially the look of concentration on her face as she walks in at 11:00.

    Her brain works in weird ways. Even though there are undiscovered tunes in her head, she can't write them down without a symphony blaring in her ears. The cacophony of notes helps her focus more, ironically.

    The waiter says something.

    "Hm?" Camila takes out an earbud.

    He laughs. She's seen him before, a pretty boy with a pretty set of eyes.

    "Sorry," she apologizes. "I get too invested sometimes."

    "That's okay. I know we're not supposed to bother you Juilliard students, but that's a really pretty treble clef," he says. "I'm Julien."

    "Camila." She helps him with her food. "How'd you know I go to Juilliard?"

    "Music, late nights, and that music line paper."

    She can't help but laugh. "I could be from anywhere."

    "But you're not," Julien says, with a cheeky smile. "Anyways, hope that music thing goes well for you. Nice to see you back, Camila." His voice is pleasant. Deep, smooth, and just loud enough to drown out the rest of the diner.

    "Thanks, Julien," she says, and goes back to her work, one hand with the pencil, the other on the sweet potato fries.

    It's not until twenty minutes later does she check her phone, a little break. She hasn't yet checked her social media, not since a few months ago. She's hardly had time to keep up but she has turned on notifications for her closest friends.

    Laurent King. Jeremy was right, his feed is plastered with landscapes and monuments, ones where he's posing in front of it. Camila wonders who his photographer is.

    Then she sees it.

    A post where he has an arm wrapped around a girl's waist, kissing her jaw, dangerously close to her neck. It looks innocent enough, but it's really not. Not when he's never had any other people featured on his account. Not even his soccer team.

    He hasn't even tagged the girl in it, but his caption makes it pretty clear they're not "just friends."

    She remembers the words he's said to her, the affectionate gestures, his theory on why he doesn't believe in dating.

    And for the first time in her life, sitting alone in the center booth of some diner in a cramped city, Camila Bean felt the profound workings of heartbreak.

    A comforting voice interrupts her blank stare.

    "I'm off in a few minutes. Do you want to get a midnight coffee?"

    "Sure," she says.